These Hands That Heal
by Agent Xero
Summary: After coming home from solving another case, Olivia gives Ella a late night lesson on gun control, mimicking a lesson her father taught her many, many years ago... ONE-SHOT.


Just a cute little Olivia/Ella scene that I had pop into my head. No specific time frame. Just Olivia and her adorable niece!

Reviews welcome! Enjoy!

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><p><strong>These Hands That Heal<strong>  
>One-shot by: Stephanie<br>White Time Ranger

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><p>The night was stagnant with a scent of summer air lurking between the walls of the buildings that were packed tightly together, canned and tucked away safely. A gentle wind swept through the slim distance between the buildings, whispering between the narrow pathways across a dark, deep abyss. The wind ran furiously to escape its captor, finally releasing into the streets of Boston, hot and silent with sleep. The heat of the day finally began to cool the blacktop, as evident by the small fog that floated on the blacktop. They hung in the air, almost suspended in time as the moon raised higher and higher into the sky, illuminating the earthly clouds cast by the dampness of the atmosphere, small shadows hiding whatever object that sat underneath their watchful eyes.<p>

The only sounds that played at three in the morning were the rustling of leaves, the howling of a dog somewhere in the distance, and the clicking footsteps of Olivia Dunham as she exited her car and closed the door, its sound echoing loudly against the quiet night. She winced the door's sound rang out like a gunshot through the sleeping streets, suddenly fearful she had disturbed something in the quiet of the night. She walked the short block to her apartment, her heels rapping against the side walk as quietly as she could, afraid to wake the world. Sleep hung heavily in her eyes, but she knew it wouldn't come. It never came easily. Not after this night.

Finally she reached her apartment turned the key and entered the cool air, a welcome remark to her heated forehead. It was a warm day, warmer than usual and why she had decided to dress in long sleeves that day was still a mystery she was trying to solve. It certainly didn't help in the fact she was running around all day added to the rising temperature she had obtained. She was looking forward to heading home, taking a cooling shower and finally getting some rest. Before calling it quits she happened to come across a lead that gave them the final chase to close the case. A raid in a warehouse that put an end to yet another sadistic killer's reign of terror over the city.

She entered the living room and placed her gun and badge on the table before collapsing onto the cushions, placing her arm over her eyes and sighing loudly. Running her fingers down her moist cheeks she stood and made her way into the bedroom before stripping down to merely a towel and hoping into the shower. Despite the temperature outside she cranked the knob as the hot water began to fall, cascading down her body and washing away the stress of the day; of the murders, the raid, and of Peter.

She sighed uneasily, a sudden urge to call him for the tenth time and check on him began to rise in her chest. She always felt bad when he got hurt. He was suppose to stay put in the car, but as always he disobeyed her, putting his life in harm's way to protect her. He always did that, and it annoyed her greatly. Not following a direct order and jumping in the line of the man they were trying to stop. It should have been the other way around. Then again, if he hadn't, the perpetrator would have escaped. Peter had thrown his life on the line to bring down another psychopath.

Olivia drew in a deep breath and let the steam invade her lungs, warm and welcoming to calm whatever eccentric emotions that stirred in her whenever she thought of him. She knew he'd be fine, he just took a knock to the head but Walter was watching him like a hawk for the night. She knew he would be in good hands. It was just one of those days, where nothing seemed to go right, and someone was sent to the hospital. Last time it was her, this time Peter. She sighed and placed her face directly into the path of the water, wishing to burn away the layers of grime and sweat and dismay that coated her body. She always hated that part, the running and rolling around in only God knows what for the sake of the job. Olivia stopped counting at the pairs of pants that were ruined in the efforts to put another criminal behind bars. But that was the nature of the job.

After what felt like hours she stepped out and dried herself, throwing a tank top over her body and a pair of basketball shorts. Even though her eyes begged for sleep her mind would not oblige and kept her neurons firing. She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of her faithful whiskey and a glass, filling it half way and returned to the couch, staring out the window once again, staring into the dark horizon, stars poked like holes through the blanket, distant specks of light pushing through the heavy night cloth.

Her eyes caught sight of her gun on the table; her leather holster was covered in dirt and slime and whatever other substance she had fallen into while trying to capture the criminal she was after. The handle of her gun stained brown with layers of filth that made her cringe. If there was one thing she took away from basic training was the knowledge that without your gun you were nothing, and your gun was nothing without you. It's a viciously balanced system that, if one side is off as will the other, tipping the scale in favor of one's life or death. She had a bad habit of being right in the middle of those two scenarios.

Olivia wasn't a creature of habit, in fact far from it, but when it came to the care of her firearm, she was.

She picked it up, examining it as if it were the first time ever seeing this distant piece of weaponry even though she knew it inside and out, each spring, each dimly lit crevice she had memorized down to the particles that held it together. This awkwardly sculpted piece of metal and plastic had saved her life countless of times, bringing down the person or people who was trying to harm her, and saved the life of her colleagues as well. That was the case tonight. If she hadn't pulled the trigger, she and Peter would be dead. Luckily, they weren't. Ever since the first time she drew and fired, she had made it a habit to clean her gun after every use, whether it was one single bullet or an entire magazine, purposeful or misfire. She made that mistake once, and she'd never do it again.

Placing her gun on the table once again she reached behind her in a drawer, next to the silencer, and pulled out a small pouch, a rectangular pale gray box, an old washcloth, and a small white bottle, the label faded, browned and cracked due to the oily residue that came from the bottle. Pressing the release the empty magazine slipped into her waiting hand, hollow and square. In a swift motion she pulled the slide, revealing an empty chamber, one of the most, if not the, most important lessons she took away from her training, make sure there are no stray bullet in the chamber. She clicked the slide back and released it; a stray hint of gunpowder filled her nose, some residue sticking around the trigger.

In the blink of an eye her glock was disassembled, a task that at first took her hours to do, she could now do effortlessly in her sleep. If she could sleep, that was. Olivia placed the pieces down on the protective cloth and began to clean the dirtied metal; taking the cleaning solution and wiped the grime off of it, restoring it to the brilliant charcoal gray that as beneath the filth, slow and swiftly, and with a precision that took her years to master. She took pride in making sure her weapon was ready for battle, her own personal army to take down whatever evil threatened her path.

Cleaning her sidearm always brought her racing mind at ease and slowed down her thought process; the simple power she felt over the dangerous piece of machinery had always fascinated her, ever since she first picked it up when she was nine, on that fateful night. She smiled as a single tear slipped from her eyes, the words her father had once told her when she was a mere toddler, five years old and oblivious to the world's dangers and evils. Her father, a famed Army general always took pride in his firearms, something she believed they have in common.

Her father's gruff, rustic voice seeped into her head as she thought his words. While lying dormant and unloaded, a gun was nothing more than a beautiful piece of art, diligently crafted and shaped uniquely from anything else made on earth. Each crevice, each hole carefully placed and added to the beauty of it, giving it equal depth and emotion. The grooves that fell between her fingers were smooth, evenly spaced like the waves of the ocean. She gripped the handle tightly as she ran the cloth up and down outside careful to not miss a spot, cleaning it through and through and shining it to a crystal white reflection.

Simply looking at her weapon, it told a story. Her story. She had had the same sidearm since she first was issued one, and it had been literally to hell and back with her. When she crossed over to the Other Side she left this one behind and took her backup. It was special, she had a connection with it she could not risk severing. It was with her through thick and thin, felt her pain and gave her courage when she needed it. It bled bullets avoid her body from bleeding her blood. She slowly wiped the grips again; the smooth metal began to shine once again, bringing a small smile to her face.

Down the hallway a floorboard creaked as the slight sound of footsteps moved towards where Olivia sat, their pattern was petite and nearly inaudible, until a voice squeaked, smaller than a mouse. "Aunt Liv?" came the sleepy question as Ella rubbed her eyes at the bright light, clutching her teddy bear in her arms. "When did you get home?"

Olivia turned her head towards the hallway as she made another sweep over the trigger guard subconsciously, "Ella, what are you doing up, baby girl? It's past three in the morning." her voice was low as she smiled at her niece and placed the handle on the table, opening her arms as Ella walked over and slouched against Olivia's chest, her eyes raising to meet her aunt's.

"I had a bad dream," she muttered slowly into Olivia's chest and looped her arms around Olivia's neck as Olivia pulled the small girl into her lap and leaned back against the couch, cradled her. "I dreamed someone tried to hurt you, Aunt Liv. I woke up before and you weren't home, I got scared. Then I heard you come home and thought you went to sleep. But I saw the light on," she trailed, nuzzling Olivia's neck.

Olivia kissed Ella's forehead and brought her face closer to hers, and kissed the bridge of Ella's nose. "Well it was just a dream, sweetheart, I'm perfectly fine. Dreams can't hurt you. I got home an hour or so ago from work, we had a bit of a late night. We caught another bad guy, and Peter got hurt, but he's okay. Uncle Walter is making sure of that."

Ella gave her a small smile, and turned her eyes to the table where the gun sat and the bullet box open, her curiosity spiked. She knew her Aunt carried a gun, but she had never seen it up close, Olivia always kept it out of her sight and reach when her and her mother came to visit. "What are you doing?" she asked innocently, her eyes darting back and forth between the pieces.

Olivia cocked her head and watched Ella's face as she looked at the broken down weapon. She had been planning to give Ella a safety lesson on the firearm now that she was getting older and around more often, and considering the situation now, she decided it was time for a sneak peak. She moved Ella to the space between her legs on the couch and leaned into the small child, and picked up the handle, Ella flinched.

"It's okay, Ella, it's safe," she said, inviting Ella to touch the base, the metal was solid and cold and foreign to her nimble fingers. "I'm cleaning it, to make sure everything works, kind of like how your mom changes the oil in her car every few months. When I was in school learning how to do my job they teach us to do this, so we make sure it does what its suppose to do, and do it safely so we don't get hurt." she paused and set the base down.

Ella reached over and picked up a bullet from the case turning the cold casing over in her fingers slowly, her eyes tracing the shining metal. "These are what kill people, right?" She turned the bullet over in fingers, fascinated that this small object could do so much damage, a process she didn't even know where or how to begin to understand.

Olivia slowly took the bullet from Ella and placed it on the table, "No," she said shortly and took Ella's wrists gently in her hands, turning Ella's palms towards her, the pads of her fingers tracing Ella's lines of her palm."These are what kill people when they don't know how to use it. What you see on TV, on all those guys who just take out a gun and shoot it to cause harm, not prevent it. People get hurt by guns because they don't handle them the way they are supposed to. They forget the power they are holding and use it without respecting it."

"How are you supposed to do that, respect it?" the girl asked and looked curiously at Olivia. She smiled at her and quickly reassembled everything in a flash and moved the empty magazine out of reach.

Ella watched with a newfound fascination as Olivia raised the gun around them, closing Ella in a protected circle and aimed down the sites, the intense look on her face returned as she did it, muscle memory the culprit. Ella had never seen her Aunt with the gun in her hands, nor seen her Aunt working, the job she did always was a mystery to Ella. The comforting smile she knew was gone, replaced by a serious expression that made Ella tense. Aunt Liv wasn't like her mother where she had been to school with her. Her mother was a high school teacher, a job plagued by late nights of grading papers and disciplining the students that caused a ruckus in her class. Her Aunt's job, on the other hand, she knew almost nothing about, except that it was dangerous, but necessary. Olivia felt Ella tense in her arms as she raised the gun to eye level and placed an arm around her waist securely, reassuring her niece.

"It's not loaded, honey, you're not going to hurt anyone. I wouldn't let you," she said and took Ella's hands in hers once again. "I was hoping to do this little lesson soon with you, Ella. But I think tonight. You're getting older and naturally you're going to be curious, and unfortunately you may be exposed to things like this. Not many kids understand how to handle this properly. Their parents leave it in places they can reach, and the curious mind of a child is scarier than anything else in the world, I believe. But I want you to understand what it is, the dangers that come with curiosity and exploration. Never touch it," she said, turning the barrel sideways, watching Ella's eyes run over it in awe, "unless it's with me and I tell you it's safe. If a friend takes it out leave, but don't turn your back."

"TV shows make guns look cool, like they can't hurt you, but they are dangerous, Ella. Believe me; _they are very, very dangerous._ Guns can hurt and kill people, Ella I won't lie to you. I only carry one because my job requires me to, so I can protect myself and anyone whose lives are put into danger." She clicked the safety into place even though it wasn't loaded, a habit she had done when Ella was around. One by one Olivia placed Ella's hands on the grip and closed hers around Ella's.

She raised it to Ella's eye level, showing her how to aim down the sites placed her cheek next to hers, whispering into Ella's ear. "But when you know how to treat it with respect that changes the situation. Never leave your finger over the trigger, always on the side. Support the weight with your arms, and keep your elbows bent slightly, to prevent injuring yourself when the recoil happens." she let go and adjusted Ella's elbows, the look of amazement swept over Ella's face as she looked at her hands and the equipment they held. "When you have it in your hands, always keep it pointed towards the floor," she dropped Ella's arms downward slowly, "So you don't accidently shoot someone."

"Why do people shoot other people, Aunt Liv?" she asked, the question rolled off her tongue like pure water from a spring, still fascinated by the cold metal in her hands, turning it over and over, examining it slowly. "Why do people want to hurt other people?" Olivia bit her lip and took the gun from Ella, disassembling it once again and placing it down on the table, turning Ella into her. It was the same questions Olivia asked herself since the abuse by her step-father began, and when her father was killed. She tucked a piece of hair behind the girl's ear and drew in a deep breath, her mind turning.

"In a perfect world there would be no need for guns, no police officers, my job wouldn't exist. There would be no hospitals because people get sick or hurt, there wouldn't be any people without homes. Everyone would have a family who loves them, no one would be abused by the people they trusted to protect them. There wouldn't be any crime. But unfortunately there are people out there who do bad things, who want to cause harm and chaos simply because they can, and they don't feel bad about doing it; because they like to see others suffer." She traced Ella's cheekbone with her finger, giving her a small smile. "Those twisted people, those who purposely injure others, I put those who cause pain and suffering in jail so kids like you can grow up and not worry about it."

"Have you ever shot someone, Aunt Liv?" Ella asked hesitantly, causing Olivia to pause and mull over her question carefully.

"I…" she paused, readjusting herself on the couch, pulling Ella into her lap once again, and sighed. She was almost eight years old; she could tell when someone was lying. "Sometimes in order to save a life, one must be taken. Sometimes… drawing my weapon is the only line between life and death of those that are close to me, or a complete stranger who needs me to save then. Sometimes I have to hurt the bad guys to make sure everyone else is safe. I don't want to hurt them, but if I don't they may hurt me instead. Yes, I have, Ella. But here's what you need to understand. If I hadn't, innocent people would have died, and the guy out there who shot them would only be causing more harm. The only reason I fire my gun is just that, to prevent more people from losing their lives because of some psycho that is running around trigger happy, and I hope you never have to see that, baby girl."

Ella looked at the gun on the table, then back to Olivia, a simple connecting formed in her mind. "Is that what happened tonight? Why you came home so late and why you're cleaning it? Did someone almost die?" She gasped. "Peter got hurt, is that why you… why you… fired it?" she asked slowly, a small fear stricken look fell onto her face.

Olivia bit her lip, but then smiled at the expression Ella gave of her partner. "Almost. But we stopped the bad guy. We were able to stop it before it happened, and Peter's fine." She smiled. "We saved everyone who was in danger." Olivia took Ella's hand in hers, "I think his ego got hurt more than he did."

Ella laughed, and leaned in against Olivia. "You fired it to save Peter because you love him right?"

Olivia's eyes drifted away for a second, her heart skipped a beat. That small, four letter word had two different meanings between her and Ella. She turned back to Ella and kissed her forehead. "Exactly," she said her eye catching sight of the clock as it blinked close to four in the morning. Olivia sat on the couch with Ella tucked in her arms and rocked her niece to sleep, a calming task she had always done since she was a baby. Minutes later when Ella was asleep in her arms peacefully, Olivia stood and placed the small girl in her big bed, tucking in the sheets around her.

Olivia returned to the couch and finished cleaning her weapon, loading the magazine and clicked it into place, sliding the top portion back and it was cocked and loaded. She stood and placed the gun back in the holster, placing it carefully on the top shelf of her bookcase, well out of Ella's sight and reach. Olivia returned to her bed and crawled underneath the covers, feeling Ella turn into her and snuggle her head against her shoulders. She traced Ella's hairline gently as Ella placed her small hand in Olivia's, her hand almost enveloping the small girl's completely.

She couldn't lie to Ella that she hadn't ever shot someone, but she couldn't exactly tell her the complete truth, either. If Ella could understand that it was in her job to protect the weak and the weary from the dangerous and mysterious, she'd call it an accomplished mission. It was true, people had died by her hands, shot and killed, but at the same time brought justice to those families and friends who sought it so, healing them with the knowledge that the one who took away their loved one would be paying for it.

That was the case with Peter tonight. If she hadn't shot the perpetrator, Peter would have died, and she knew she couldn't live with herself he had been; she couldn't live without him. He had become such a vital part of her life that she just _couldn't_ imagine having Peter not in her life anymore. His cocky, arrogant, pain in the ass smile that always took her breath away, she would miss that the most, and his eyes; they always could strip down her armor to almost nothing. Almost.

These hands that hurt were the hands that could heal, bring closure to those looking for it, to comfort those who needed it, and to finally put to rest the souls who couldn't find it. Sometimes in order to heal, one needed to hurt, to find no way out and look for a guardian angel to bring them home. For Olivia, Ella was just that. Her guardian angel. When Olivia was hurting, Ella could do pull her back to Earth for just a short while, make her forget of all the evils and feel like she was healed, lick the wounds she had inflicted and make her feel whole, feel human, make her remember what it felt like to not be a cop, to remind her that a family was waiting for her. If bringing down the enemy was what it took for Olivia to return safety to Rachel and Ella, she would do what it took to see their smiling faces she was perfectly okay with that.

Olivia stared out her window, eyes gazing past the horizon and into the deep space surrounding them, allowing herself to become lost in the stars, bouncing between on a cushion of air. Slowly she closed her eyes and drew in a long, tiresome breath, trying to relax and finally get some well needed rest. In her ear a small hum began to form, the rough, gravelly voice of a gray haired man, his skin made dark by the desert heat, his hands rough by the harsh sands, but his green eyes shining like the sun, his smile warm like the night.

"_Olive," he smiled to her, running a cloth down the barrel of his shot gun, smoothing out invisible bumps in the metal. "Honey, what are you doing up? It's way past your bed time." _

_She stepped down the basement stairs lightly, the wood giving a small groan underneath her feet, clutching her stuffed dog for dear life. She was four. "I couldn't sleep, Daddy," she whispered, "I had a bad dream that you got hurt." She walked over to him and hugged his waist as her father lifted her to his lap, wiping the small stream of tears that lined her cheeks, his smile welcoming. _

"_Well I'm here, honey, I'm perfectly fine. You've got nothing to worry about." He hugged his daughter close and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment into her hair, rubbing his hardened thumb over her cheekbones, wiping away her liquid fears and gazing lovingly into her eyes, wrapping her in a blanket of security, her eyes drifting to the light on the table. _

"_What are you doing?" she asked curiously, the metal reflecting her pale green eyes. _

_He sighed, seeing the amazement in his daughter's face. "I'm cleaning it, to make sure it works okay, so if I ever have to use it, I know it'll protect me. They taught me, the Army, that without your gun, you are nothing, and without you, your gun is nothing. This little piece of metal has saved my life on a number of occasions, Olive. I just hope you never have to pick up one of these," he shifted her in his lap, "But if you do, you should know how to use it, to respect it…" _

Olivia let out a soft snore as she relaxed and fell asleep with Ella curled next to her, her hand resting over Olivia's heart as it beat, speeding up at one of the few memories Olivia had of her childhood, a time when everything was magical, mystical and proper. It was a rare memory of her father, a man she had ripped away from her and replaced by a monster, a demon from hell himself that had risen from the molten layers of only God knew where, to torture her on earth, to test her. But she had taken care of him; at least she thought she did, when she was nine, pulling the trigger for the first time and almost banishing that demon from her life. Almost.

A star in the night sky began to glow brighter, smiling down upon where Olivia slept, her mind playing the home movies she had managed to save throughout the years of abuse from her step-father, and replaying the scarce memories she had before the Greek tragedy that her life had become. Of her mother, her and Rachel when they were kids; of her father, whose life had been taken by a bullet from a crazed man as he exited the plane in the Army air base, his family smiling at his final arrival home.

_She was six. Olivia ran out to his waiting arms, her hair flowing behind her as she ran as fast as her legs could carry her to his body, his smile wide with pride as she made her way to him. Her father was safe. He was alive. He was home. _

_That's when the bullet rang out and pierced his head, stopping the General dead in his tracks, more bullets zipped through the air, one narrowly avoiding her shoulder as a soldier ran out and grabbed her, retreating safely to the barracks as they searched for the shooter, and she began to scream, her face wide with fright as her father's body fell, his fading eyes staring into hers. Lifeless. _

_She was so close to beginning the normal part of her life, with her family, her father home from his final tour and on his way to retiring next month. She screamed, cried, fought but she was held down as she did so, burying her face into the jacket of the soldier. He was almost home, and in the flash of an eye, he was gone. She almost had the life she wanted, and like grains of sand it slipped through her fingers. Normal. Fun. Happy. She almost had it. _

_And just like that, the peaceful phase of Olivia's life was gone. She almost had it. _

_Almost…_

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><p><em>Reviews welcome. <em>


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